Harper's Folly
by H. S. Shore
Summary: Masterharper Robinton is no longer a young man, and journeyman Menolly isnt exactly a free woman. Their mistakes give us a chance to hear numerous stories from Pern that have yet to be told.
1. Dangers Harper Braved

**Author's Note**

Hello! Let's just start off by giving a little note about the timeline. This story, Harper's Folly, takes place around, during, and shortly after The White Dragon. Future stories I this series (I hope,) will take place after The Skies of Pern, so as to fit in effectively with Anne's canon storyline. I don't think I'll need an alternate universe to take care of these characters and relationships; Anne has given us so many fantastic plot points to work with, without doing anything that is totally implausible by Pernese standards.

If you have a problem, a comment, a note, or a correction, please _politely_ and _respectfully_ inform me, and I will look into fixing it. I am visually impaired, and I often make silly little spelling or grammatical typos. The impairment is recent, and I've not yet gotten used to coping with it. If you see one of these errors, please, please point it out to me and I will correct it instantly. Because of my disability, even with spellcheck, it is very difficult sometimes for me to find those on my own. I will not be offended if you point one out; in fact, I'll be grateful.

Please, please review, if you read! If you love it, please review! If you don't love it, please review and tell me why! Have no problem writing simply for my own pleasure, but I won't post anything unless I think that people are reading it. I'm too busy to stick to posting on a deadline if no one's responding. ;) If you'd like to hear more, tell me so! All it takes is a simple comment saying "I'm reading!" r something of that ilk. Granted I much prefer if you actually comment on the work in some way, but if you don't have time, just let me know you're there and I'll be very, very happy. 

Oki, you can read the story now.

Thanks, loves.

H.S. Shore

**Chapter One: Those Dangers Harper-Braved**

At the beginning of The White Dragon

Robinton wretched. He all but threw himself over the side of the small craft, clutching the railing for support as sobs of seasickness wracked his body. The waves just went on and on and on, shaking the boat, and almost upending the makeshift table upon which Menolly had laid out some bread and cheese. He couldn't touch the food now, not until he'd finally managed to stop being sick. If only the sharding ship would stop shaking so…

"Master?" Even as he hunched yet again over the side of the ship, Robinton felt Menolly's cool hand on his neck, her voice tinged with concern. He gave himself a moment to collect himself, and then turned around with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Menolly didn't look particularly reassured. "Oh," she murmured, eyes widening.

"A seaman's life," Robinton began, "doesn't seem to quite agree with my…sensitive nature." The ship surged up on a wave, and the Masterharper spun on his chest heaving.

"Wait here," the girl was saying, as she bustled across the deck. Robinton bit his lip, wishing she'd stay with him so that if he really did fall over the side, she could catch him. "At the very least," he muttered, "if I die in the midst of this noble exploration, I can't think of anyone who I would rather have mourn my passing."

"Stop that." Menolly hurried back, clutching a beaker of some thick, white liquid in her hand. "You're not going to die, and you're not going to go overboard, and you sound like an overgrown child. Drink this." She thrust the drink at him, and he eyed it dubiously.

"If I don't die from the rocking of the ship, you'll kill me with your tender ministrations." He tried to push her hands away as she all but forced the drink on him. Menolly took his hands in both of hers, and forced his fingers around the edges of the beaker. With a stern, and yet beseeching look, she nodded at it, watching him, waiting for him to down it. He sighed, closed his eyes, and made a very big deal out of screwing up his face in a semblance of great displeasure as he forced himself to drink the liquid. Menolly wasn't impressed.

"You can't possibly have gone all these turns as the Masterharper and never taken a ship before," the girl was saying. "Why, without a dragon, it's the more effective form of long-distance travel, and you've been just everywhere."

"You forget," he replied, hesitantly turning his back on the sea, "My position comes with many perks…prestige, honor, and an unending tide of willing dragonriders to take me where and when I please." His tone was droll. Menolly knew better than many that many times, he had trouble finding a Fort rider who was at liberty to take him anywhere. Everyone was so busy lately, what with Wansor's star charts, the erratic fall of thread, and everything going on with the internal drama the Hall. If there was one thing Robinton particularly disliked, it was Harper drama. Harpers were supposed to be the peacemakers of Pern, the reasoners, the comforters, the purveyors of understanding and comprehension. They were _not_ supposed to be petty, catty, and agitated. Sometimes, he felt that the stereotype did them more harm than good. Harpers were people, just as dragonriders, not always noble and bold, were people.

"You should sit down," Menolly was saying, as she laid the empty beaker on the table. "I'll get you some water. It'll ease the burn of the medicine."

"Good girl," murmured Robinton. Menolly went off to find some fresh water, and Robinton forced himself to sit down, his back up against the railing. The boat wasn't rocking quite so violently now, and he was relieved to feel some of his equilibrium coming back. Idly, he thanked the egg that Menolly knew the tricks of the trade, even if her eagerness and vivacity made him feel older than he was.

There was nothing to be seen but ocean, for a tremendously long ways. It made Robinton feel small, and he closed his eyes to shut out the view. What he needed was firm, dry land, something solid and steady, that wouldn't rock under him. He tried to imagine the seashore, a beach, anything that would make the images in his head stop swaying back and forth. Surely, they couldn't be far from land now. How long had it been? He couldn't remember…

When he opened his eyes again, Robinton was pleased with his ability to imagine away the swaying of the craft. Altogether, he felt like a new man. Seeing Menolly coming down the deck, he hailed her cheerfully, pulling himself to his feet in one lithe movement that gave the lie to his silvering hair. "Your remedy has done the trick," he grinned, bowing to his apprentice with a flourish. "You're a ministering angel of the sea."

Menolly giggled, waving his protestations away with one hand. "I'm glad you're awake," she said. "I was afraid to shake you, since you've had enough of that already."

Asleep? Robinton blinked, and then looked out over the ocean. To his chagrin, the sun had gone down, and the sky was much darker than it had been. How long had he been asleep? He grimaced with disgust, reaching down to smooth out the sleep-creases in his pants and tunic. Menolly stifled her chuckle with one hand, and laid the other one on his shoulder.

"It's all right," she said, "it's the best way, you know. Sleeping off seasickness. I've done it myself. You should have seen Harper Elgion after he started to sail on his own…back at Half Circle, I mean. Alemi told me all about it." She shook her head, smiling indulgently, and then grinned at him, her eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. "Besides, now we've touched land, there's no reason to keep you from sleep."

"Touched land?" Robinton blinked, and then whirled around, feeling stupid that he hadn't noticed. Then, seeing the land that Menolly was so proud to have discovered, he caught his breath.

A beautiful misty set of high-reaching mountains lay as the backdrop to the incredibly beautiful scene. The outcropping of land was circled entirely with water, and the sand glistened, even though the sun had started to go down behind the clouds. They were big, puffy, purple clouds, almost like children's sketchings, set against the deepest of blue skies. Robinton thought of a song, one that he and Menolly had been composing together. It was a song about the beauty of nature, and ultimately about the valiance of the people of Pern, to be presented to Lessa at the next hatching. Yet this incredible scene was far more exquisite than any image he could evoke with a pretty tune.

"Well?" Menolly was standing right behind him, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. Robinton turned, and gave her a long, searching look.

"Did you know," he started, "where you were going when we started this voyage of ours?"

Menolly smiled, shaking her head. "No, sir," she said, with no less pleasure in her voice. "I stumbled upon it by the merest accident while you were sleeping. Isn't it lovely?" Her smile faded a bit, and she clasped her hands behind her back, much as she'd done when she was an apprentice, looking for approval. "Do you like it?"

"My dear girl," Robinton murmured, shaking his head, "words cannot express."

That amused Menolly. "That's saying a lot, coming from you." She glanced over his shoulder at the landscape, and then, in an excess of eagerness, grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the other side of the ship. "Let's get off this thing and take a look."

Robinton was all too happy to do so. He followed his journeyman over the side, and down on to the sands, relieved to feel the coarse grains of solid sandy earth beneath his feet. Menolly herself almost danced across the beach, flinging off her own sandals and tracing a squiggly pattern in the sand with her big toe.

"Where's Beauty?" Robinton asked, suddenly feeling the absence of the girl's firelizard queen. "She'd have enjoyed the view, I think."

"She'll come," replied Menolly. "She's sunning with the others at the harper hall, but she'll find me soon enough. She usually does." She laughed. "Don't ask me how she does it, I really couldn't say, seing as she's got no one to give her the image. And what an image this is…" She glanced at the mountain range in the distance with unveiled admiration. "I'll bring her the next time, if she doesn't make it herself. Where's Zair?"

"He's with Sebell," the Harper replied. "I didn't want him to get in the way, or get distracted by a Southern green as he's been prone to do. I thought he'd probably be less of a nuisance at the Hall." He smiled as he said it, thinking about how delightful a little "nuisance" his bronze really was. Still, he'd have been no help to their exploration, as he was easily distracted, and liked nothing better than to creel for attention at the most inopportune moments.

"Oh…with Sebell," Menolly echoed, and Robinton shot her a sharp look. There had been a strange tone in her voice hat he couldn't quite place. Longing, perhaps? Regret that she hadn't taken him along? He smiled ruefully. His two most faithful journeymen may have thought that they could hide their intrigue form him, but he had yet to be that old. He was hardly decrepit, and he was still the Masterharper of Pern. Nothing escaped his notice that easily.

Menolly gave a little cough, and drew a hand through her cropped brown hair. "It's a good place to rest, at any rate," she was saying, turning away from Robinton to continue up the beach. "We can stay the night there and keep exploring in the morning."

"We'd best do so," agreed Robinton. "I can't return to Benden with nothing to report but the seasick nap I took. That will hardly go over well with F'lar, amusing as it might be to you. And by the way," and he gave her a good-natured glare, "I'd prefer it if you didn't mention my seamanship to anyone else at the Hall. I may not be the greatest of sailors, but-!"  
"But you're still the greatest of Harpers," finished Menolly, "and I don't think there's anyone to cast doubt on that."

Menolly dropped to her knees on the sand, and Robinton joined her, settling himself next to her with their backs to the mountains. Those same big, purple clouds concerned him, and seemed to be growing in size on the horizon. He'd seen clouds like those before, much more innocent looking than the silver masses that represented imminent thread, but no less dangerous to crafts like theirs. "What do you think about those?" he asked the girl, gesturing towards the sky. "No threat, I suppose, to an expert like yourself, but..."

Menolly followed his gesture, and then bit her lip as she, too, saw the clouds. "Shards and shells," she hissed, looking from the clouds, to the mountains, to the wind that had begun to sway the groves of nearby fruit trees. "That isn't good."

"I had so hoped," sighed Robinton, "that you'd say something more encouraging."

**Author's Note: **A short chapter because my brother is being bar mitzvah'd in a few hours, and I need to sleep so that I can do an aliyah. I haven't read Hebrew in years, wish me luck.

Next chapter will be longer, and will conclude this scene at the cove. Review if you read! Whether you like or no, I would be ever so grateful and I WILL read yours.


	2. The Rising Tide

**Author's Note: **Thanks to **Voodoo Weasel**, and **paisley is a kind of pattern**, both of whom were kind enough to read and review the first chapter.  I appreciate it, guys.

**Chapter Two: The Rising Tide**

"Should we leave, now, before the storm hits?" Robinton asked his journeyman. Menolly shook her head.

"No," she started, "I think that would do us more harm than good. We'll just get caught out on the water in the midst of it, and we're a lot safer on land in the rain, than at sea on a flimsy wooden boat." She bit her lip. "It's a shame there's no valid shelter on this place. Pretty, but not very practical. We're going to get…very wet." Even as she spoke, her eyes were scanning the cove, searching for some place to take shelter, or, more likely, and Robinton smiled as he realized this, somewhere for _him_ to keep out of the rain.

"I don't mind being drenched," he assured her, shrugging in resignation. "Better that than dashed to pieces on the rocks of some hidden Southern outcropping, never to be heard from again."

Menolly chuckled, and Robinton watched her fingers moving idly in the air. She was composing, he knew, drawing imaginary notes out of thin air as she ran through the chords in her head. She did that more and more lately, and he was pleased to know that she'd come so far out of her shell that she felt comfortable making up verses without thinking about it. She really had come a long way from the terrified little girl that he'd known turns ago at Benden Weyr, and she matured more and more, every day. He couldn't help being proud and pleased with the girl…no, with the woman, because she was, now, a woman, and he'd best remember that.

Menolly stood up, and squinted at the horizon, as if suddenly unsure that those really were storm clouds. Apparently they were, after all, because she slouched with disappointment, and started to gaze at the fruit trees standing in a line to her left. "I wish Beauty would get here," she muttered. "Then we could at least send her to get help."

"What, and leave our good ship stranded on the coast?" Robinton pulled a face of mock horror. "I thought you were a seaman."

"I'm a harper," Menolly retorted, "but first and foremost, I'm a person, one who doesn't want to be cold and wet in the middle of nowhere."

"Never fear," Robinton remarked, striking an exaggeratedly gallant pose. "I'll protect you from the terrors of the storm." Menolly grinned, and ignored him.

Robinton took a long look at the cove. He made a few gentle strokes in the sands with one finger, imagining how he would draw the cove, the fruit trees, the breathtaking backdrop, and the surrounding ocean. F'lar would have to hear about this, of course, but then…well, it wasn't really part of his task to report such trifles, and the more people who knew about this place, the less beautiful it would ultimately become.

"Master Idarolan's nothing like the seaholders at Half-Circle," Menolly remarked idly, apparently out of nowhere. "Honestly, I think that I assumed all seamen were like Yanus…cold and dry, like the fish they spend so much time in company with." She shook her head. "I guess even coming from where I do, that's an unfair assumption. Alemi was never like that."

Robinton remembered Alemi vaguely, as the only man who had really cared with Menolly had gone missing from her seahold as a child. He'd never met Alemi himself, but Menolly had told him stories, and they were, in fact, the only pleasant stories that she seemed to be willing to share from her childhood.

"Have you heard from him?" He asked. "Surely he's pleased with your recent success." He knew that no one else at Half Circle would be, but maybe Alemi…

Menolly shrugged. "I wouldn't trouble him," she said, and, as if that closed the issue, she lay out on her back, closing her eyes as if she were a dragon, sunning itself on the ledge of it's Weyr. Robinton watched for a few moments, and then tried another tack. "I'm sure we could escort you to Half Circle to see him," he started, "with a company of harpers in tow, if you wanted to ah…make a splash." Menolly winced, smiling despite herself at his pun. "You know some of the most prestigious members of the crafthall…Sebell, Talmur, Domic…they're all very fond of you, and I really don't think they'd' mind a little excursion to repay the debt that you owe your hold of origin." He tried to keep the distaste out of his tone, but Menolly didn't seem to care.

She shook her head. "I don't think that would be a very good idea," she murmured.

"Oh?" Robinton turned to her. "Why not? You don't feel comfortable enough with any of the other masters and journeyman?"

Menolly shook her head vigorously, holding up a hand in a gesture of protest. "It's not that," she insisted, "but I just don't think it would make an valid difference. I wouldn't want…that is, I don't think I'd presume to subject Sebell to the people at Half Circle…they wouldn't understand us."

"Us?" queried Robinton softly. Menolly shrugged, and added, a little too quickly for truth, "You know, us harpers. They can't fathom the value of music, the way we do. It'd be cruelty to try and make them understand, or to try and make a him understand them.

Robinton hadn't, he recognized, insisted on Sebell in particular. Yet Menolly seemed to have him in mind. There was strange and inexplicable feeling in Robinton's gut, an indecisive, confused mishmash of smug amusement and sinking unsurety. Irritated with his own peevish uncertainty, Robinton tried to dispel the feeling by sheer force of will. He couldn't quite manage to shake that nagging perturbation, however, and he was glad when Menolly spoke again, changing the subject.

"It's starting," she sighed, pointing upwards at the skies. Even as she spoke, the drops of rain began to fall on Robinton's bare face, and he shivered.

"Shells," muttered Menolly, noticing her Master's shudder. "I knew it was going to rain today, I should never have dragged us out here." She gave Robinton a very concerned look, one that rankled in him, as he wondered if she'd be so very helpful and solicitously gentle to a man of her own turns. He was no old uncle of her former seahold.

The rain started to pour down, pummeling the two harpers with large, hard-hitting drops, drops which created a rainy mist and obscured the beautiful mountains from their sight. Idly, Robinton cursed the fact that he'd given up his opportunity to make his chart of the cove, realizing that he might never be able to find it again, and that now, he wouldn't even have a chart of drawing out of it to take back to the Harper Hall with him. Never mind, no doubt Menolly would put it to music soon enough. In fact, if she didn't, he'd do it himself. He didn't do nearly enough composing lately, busy as he was with all the troubles of the world of Pern.

"Master?" Menolly was pointing up at the sky again, but this time, there was a wary, tense tone in her voice. Robinton turned his eyes skyward, keeping the rest of his body motionless as he did so. A dark shape was sliding across the sky, and Robinton realized, even as Menolly had, that it was undoubtedly that of a dragon.

Neither of them spoke until the dragon had receded into the distance, and couldn't possibly hear their conversation. Finally, after what seemed like an achingly long wait, Menolly rolled over, and covered her face with her hands. "Shells," "she groaned, "we shouldn't be here. This isn't going at all according to plan."

"We can leave in the morning," Robinton insisted, trying not to let on that he, too, was disconcerted by the appearance of the dragon. "It's not possible that he could have seen us through this rain. Well," he added, after a moment, in which Menolly didn't look up, "I'd never thought you'd be one to shrink from an adventure."

They both knew that this was no adventure. This was supposed to be a business trip, of sorts, an important scouting expedition on which they weren't supposed to be caught. There was no reason, however, to try and make it any darker than it was, and Menolly was a better thinker when she was in good spirits.

Robinton's shivers were increasing in their intensity, so that his whole body was wracked with tremors from the coldness of the rain. Menolly pulled off the light jacket that she'd been wearing, and threw it over his chest, exposing her arms to the rain. Before Robinton could protest, shed held up a finger at him, a warning gesture that no one but Lessa, Benden's Weyrwoman, ever used with the Masterharper of Pern. "Leave it on," she said. "I'm used to this sort of thing."

"It's my face that's so cold," muttered Robinton, all too aware that he was being coddled by an apprentice he himself had trained.

"If you put it on your face," Menolly retorted, "you'll suffocate yourself, and then the jacket won't do either of us any good. Leave it on."

Robinton left it on. He watched Menolly rubbing at her bare arms, curling herself up into a protective ball to ward off the raindrops. The harder the rain fell, the more hunched she became, until finally she didn't seem to have any farther to go. Seeing that the rain showed no promising sign of ebbing, Robinton reached over, and pulled her to him by one arm, putting the light jacket between them, so that it lay partially over his shoulder, and partially against her back. She tensed for a moment, and then relaxed into the jacket, drawing the one free sleeve over her arm.

"Sleep, girl," the Masterharper ordered, decisively, but gently, seeing his journeyman's eyelids beginning to droop. "I've had my nap already. I'll wake you when the rain's stopped."

Menolly shook her head. "No," she insisted, "I'll stay awake…it won't be terribly long…besides…awfully boring with no one to talk to, I'd think."

Despite her brave words, Menolly struggled against sleep's embrace, and before long, had dropped off entirely. Robinton watched her eyes, shut tight in sleep, and was unexpectedly charmed by the gentleness of her drowsy expression. She was a child, after all, and she was his responsibility. She always would be. She had been his apprentice, after all, hadn't she?

Robinton didn't' sleep. He was proud of himself for staying awake the entire night, and amused himself by drawing musical notation in the sands, and watching the rain wash those same impromptu scores away. As the rain began to slack off, however, and the wind started to die down, Robinton realized how grateful he would be to return to the Harper Hall, and to put this misbegotten excursion behind him, at least for the moment.

The sun finally came through the persistent clouds, and Menolly stirred, feeling the warmth of it on her face and arms. She blinked, and then looked around, taking a moment to get her bearings before instinctively turning to inspect Robinton's condition.

The Masterharper was, as was to be expected, drenched to the very bone. The flimsy jacket that lay between them was plastered against his arm and her back, and had not been any use against the rain for some time. "Oh," exclaimed Menolly, "what a mess..."

Struggling to his feet, Robinton stifled a yawn. "No matter," he said. "Are you feeling all right? You're no less soaked than I am, and you were wearing a good deal less."

"I'm fine," insisted Menolly. "Just a bit cold. I'd do well for a cup of klah, but that'll have to wait until we're back at the Hall."

"Then full speed ahead," announced the Masterharper, "to the Harper Hall." He took her by the elbow, and led her towards the ship, sighing in the realization that the choppy, post-storm sea would be no easier on his stomach than it had been when they'd arrived.


	3. It's Not Easy Being Harper Blue

**Author's Note: **Thanks again to **Voodoo Weasel, **and **paisley is a kind of pattern, **and also to **ginalee,** and **true-gold dragonstar** for the reviews to chapter two. It makes me happy. :-D

**Chapter Three: It's Not Easy, Being (Harper) Blue**

Only a Sevenday after the end of The White Dragon

Masterharper Robinton brooded in his harper-blue chair, the one that his numerous friends and well-wishers had provided him with when they'd first constructed the magnificent Cove Hold.

He brooded, because the very name "Cove Hold" reminded him of things that he wasn't sure he wanted to remember. Glancing out the window, he took in the beautiful beach, the groves of fruit-bearing trees, the mountains, and the overall grandeur of the scenery, and he grimaced.

He'd discovered this place, a long time ago, and it was only right that it had been chosen as the spot for his convalescence. IT had been so different then, when he'd been vigorous and still mightily respected throughout Pern. He and Menolly had made the journey to this cove at the suggestion of F'lar of Benden in order to scout out the Southern Continent, and to explore those reaches of the place that Toric and his holders would never have a chance to. Upon leaving the cove on that occasion, Robinton remembered worrying wistfully that he might never see the place again. Indeed, when Brekke and Master Idarolan had brought him here, only one, or maybe two sevendays ago, he'd been delighted, intensely grateful, and thrilled with the opportunity to revisit the site that had haunted his dreams for so long.

But now that the entirety of Pern had taken off, and every member of the Weyrs and Holds were no longer visiting him and checking up on his every movement, Robinton had many moments to himself. He spent these moments wishing that he'd returned to Cove Hold in the same state that he had left it, all that time ago. He couldn't so much as move without some sort of supervision, after what he liked to call the "incident" at the goldflight, and though he felt vastly improved and much stronger than he'd been, it was next to impossible to keep up his spirits and sense of dignity in the face of being constantly coddled. His precious and yet dreaded moments of privacy all came when he was stationary, quiet, or somehow resting. He therefore spent a great deal of time just sitting in his chair, watching the swaying of the trees, the lapping of the waves, concocting songs in his head, just to assure himself that he could still think like a mature and capable Masterharper. What he wouldn't' give to be the powerful, virulent man that he had been…well, there was no use in wishing.

"Master?" Menolly was standing hesitantly in the doorway, her gitar in one hand. The other hand was trying to disentangle Beauty from her hair. The firelizard queen seemed to do nothing but scold, squawk and flit about lately, and had become a real nuisance,at certain times, both to Robinton, and Menolly. Menolly never spoke about the strange behavior, and Robinton worried that perhaps Beauty objected to the climate and to the other queens living on the Southern Continent. If Beauty made a fuss for long enough, Menolly would leave, and then he really would spend far too much of his time entirely alone with his thoughts…except when someone wanted to force-feed him, or apply some nasty ointment somewhere or other.

"Yes, Menolly? You may come in, I'm obviously not busy," He made a distracted hand gesture, beckoning her in to the room. "May I help you?"

He heard Menolly hesitate on the threshold, and cursed himself silently for being peevish with the girl. "I just…wanted to see how you were," she started. Brandishing the instrument, she added "I thought maybe we could play. I've been so busy with the visitors, with Jaxom and Sharra, and Piemur…I feel like I've had no time, and I was so hoping…" she trailed off, as if suddenly unsure of what she had been so hoping.

Robinton turned around in his chair, and rewarded Menolly with what he hoped was his usual winning smile. "Nothing would please me better than some music right now," he insisted, reaching out to take her hand and pull her farther towards him. "The sounds of the ocean are pretty, but too lulling for my mood at the moment."

Menolly took a seat at the foot of his chair, curling her legs up underneath her as she began to tune the strings of the gitar. Belatedly, Robinton realized that in order to play music, he must have a musical instrument, and he rose from his chair to go seek out his own gitar. Menolly rose in the same instant, holding out her hands in front of her to stay him. "I'll get it, Master," she started. "Where've you left it?"

Robinton took a deep, patient breath. "Thank you, but I am perfectly capable of getting my own instrument. You stay right there and finish tuning." Before she could protest, he strode across the room and pulled the gitar down from a high shelf, too high, he noted, with some relief, for Menolly to reach. "I am not, my dear child, exerting myself," he continued, anticipating her complaints. "And if I rest any more, or use my limbs and wits any less, I might as well go between, for all the good I would do myself or Pern."

Menolly drew in a sharp breath, and Robinton instantly regretted his words. The look on his journeyman's face said very plainly that she had been frightened enough that he would die from a heart attack, without needing to hear him talk about going between. "Let's have that new song of yours," Robinton tried again, more gently. "I heard you playing it after dinner, two nights ago, but you've yet to present it to me properly, and I am, I must admit, slightly resentful of the oversight."

Menolly began to play, and Robinton returned to perch himself on the edge of his chair. The girl had quick fingers, and even when she flubbed a note, she moved on so nimbly that it was hard to take notice of the mistake. She was also humbly talented, neither too proud nor overly boastful, so that it was nothing short of a pleasure to listen to her play, and to see her succeed. There were so few people like Menolly on Pern today, he realized, so few who were both good at what they did, and pleasant to be with. Master Fandarel came to mind, and Wansor, the starsmith. Those two were real craftsman, living for their craft and for the fruits of their labor, much as Menolly did. Recently, the Harper thought regretfully, the girl had spent more time nursing him than enjoying her music. That would have to change. He would not allow himself to be an obstruction to her career, and after all, no matter how much she cared for him, every person had only so much time on this planet…

The Masterharper took up his own gitar, and began, softly at first, to pluck out an improvised harmony to Menolly's tune. "Sing, Menolly," he murmured, "sing the verses. I want to hear the words, too." He kept playing, even as Menolly frowned, shaking her head. "Please," he asked again, inclining his head respectfully to her. "Sing it for me." Robinton put an emphasis on the final two words, knowing that she couldn't refuse. Expelling a breath, Menolly hesitated, and then sang.

She sang a song about fear; a song about the dizzying feeling of near-loss, of the knowledge that one is insufficient to meet the needs of one's loved ones. Her voice was so clear, so plaintive and so full of the ring of truth, that it took Robinton several enthralled moments before he realized that the song was about him. He started in his chair, and stared at her afresh, torn between a most uncharacteristic blush of shame, and a thrill in his heart that he didn't care to identify.

She stopped singing when she saw the alarm on his face, and looked away from him, continuing to play, but apparently unable to meet his eyes. Robinton's fingers slackened, and he let the gitar fall gently to the floor, keenly feeling all too familiar pangs of regret.

"You did ask me to sing for you," Menolly was saying, her eyes still downcast. "You told me you wanted to hear it." There was a note in her voice that implied that Robinton should have known what the song would be about, should have known what it was that was so close to her heart at this moment. The Harper realized that she was right, that, after the understanding which the two of them had shared about Idarolan's ship, he should have known. Menolly was a transparent girl, one could read her like one of Wansor's carefully drawn-charts, and see exactly where her heart lay, if only one cared to look.

"It's a beautiful song," he began, trying to let only gratitude and admiration into his voice. "My thanks."

"I'm glad you like it," she replied, and Robinton heard, in the silence that followed her words, that she had wanted to say that she'd written it for him.

At that moment, Zair flitted into the room, and, with a pleased sort of chirrup, alighted on Menolly's shoulder. Beauty warbled with some vexation at having to share her favorite perch, but, to Robinton's surprise, Beauty gave in quickly enough, flipped her wings to her back, and regarded Zair with eyes whirling a resignedly contended blue.

"This is silly," muttered Menolly. Robinton said nothing, but bent to retrieve his gitar from the g round. Almost automatically, Menolly reached down and picked it up for him, handing it to him without looking in his direction. "It's silly," she repeated, "Because we're not hiding anything, any longer." She meant, Robinton knew, that they weren't hiding these turbulent emotions from each other any longer, but he was all too sure that, were they to voice them out loud ever again, it would only lead to ruin.

"What were those words in the third verse?" HE asked, trying not to notice the look of disappointment on the journeyman's face. "I didn't quite catch them." He played the verse through on his instrument, and then looked at her expectantly, hoping that she'd provide him the lyrics, and therefore a new subject for conversation.

He had, it seemed, picked a rather unfortunate verse to use as a distraction. Menolly played it, and sang, as she did so.

"And if the truth is never known

I promise I will take you home

As long as you might live to see

The love that thus sustains me."

She looked at him, and Robinton swallowed hard, working to control his thoughts. He'd developed a headache, or, more accurately, a mind ache, and the only thing in the room that didn't' seem to be spinning was Menolly herself, whom he could still see, clear and vibrant, waiting for his response to her words.

"And if the truth is never known, I promise I will take you home," he murmured, echoing the song. "That's…lovely. Just…lovely." He couldn't' say more than that, as he was having trouble getting the words out of his mouth, a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. There was silence in the room for a few moments, as Robinton searched for the words that normally came so glibly to him, and Menolly waited, hoping for something, anything, that would calm her confusion.

After a while, the girl grew tired of the silence, and, dejectedly, she slung her gitar over her shoulder, and stood. "You must be tired," she said firmly, although she spoke only to fill the void. "I shouldn't be asking you to play-!"  
"It was a pleasure," Robinton murmured. "Never apologize for giving me that pleasure. Perhaps a duet, now? I haven't heard the firelizard song in so very long, and you and I both know that it's Beauty and Zair's favorite."

Zair crooned, and Robinton hoped that he was responding to his owner's choice of song, rather than to the emotion in Menolly's eyes. Without further preamble, Menolly sat down again, and played the song. She played it once through, and then Robinton joined her. They still played well together, and when they'd finished the third repetition of the song, Menolly looked calmer, and more at ease.

Robinton himself felt nothing of the kind.

"We'll play next sevenday," he told her, "when everyone's gathered here again. They say we're going to have a feast to celebrate Oldive's giving me permission to fly again. At least, I hope we will. That can only happen, of course, if the old Killjoy actually grants me that."

"You'll fly again," Menolly replied, collecting her gitar. "And we'll play at the feast."

She wouldn't play her new song, though, Robinton knew. That song had been for his ears only, and it probably always would be.


	4. If Music Be the Food of Love

**Author's Note: **I just want to mention that I wrote this while listening to Colin Hay's "I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You,", and it almost made me cry, which is something that I avoid doing, as a rule. I'd recommend that particular tune to anyone who might be looking for some music...and who needs to have an emo moment (while they're reading my romance!) :-D

Also, I've begun posting the sequel story to this one, which is called "Harper's Hope." It's a bit more all-inclusive (it has a lot more of the Pernese characters in it), takes place significantly later in the 9th Pass storyline, and one can certainly read it without Harper's Folly, so I figured I might as well put some of it up, since I've been writing like a woman on literary crack lately. You're welcome to peruse it – it's a bit different, but it will ultimately deal with similar themes, as well as other ones that pertain to more of Pern.

Also, if you like my writing, you might enjoy the story.

I imagine that if you don't like my writing, you might not like the story. That does seem to follow. But even so, you should glance at it anyway, if for no other reason than to tell me why it is that you don't like it.

Enough talk! (Good gracious, these authors notes are getting wildly out of hand.)

H.S. Shore

**Chapter Four: If Music Be the Food of Love**

That Cove Hold gather feast came on so soon that Menolly and Robinton were both surprised by the haste. The Masterharper was healthier than even he had realized, and Oldive wasted no time in giving his friend official permission to resume some semblance of his normal activities. No sooner had Robinton notified the Weyrleaders of Benden that he was back to being his normal, inexhaustible self that he found himself surrounded yet again with well-wishers and favor-seekers, all of whom crowded into his precious Cove, and made him almost wish that he'd never been cleared for flight after all. He'd been so enjoying the time to himself, and he needed the space, needed to sort things out in his head, needed to understand his own feelings on certain subjects before he felt comfortable going forth, back into the life which he'd left at such an inopportune moment.

Masterharper Robinton was never one to turn down music and feasting, however, and as the party was in his honor, there was nothing for it but to dress up in his finest, and to appear in the best of spirits. In truth, he felt more and more uplifted, the more people he greeted, and the more smiling, encouraging faces he saw. Perhaps he could shake off this disturbing mantle of lethargy after all, despite his initial feelings to the contrary.

He was striding through the crowd of his friends and acquaintances, just as the sun had begun to go down in the sky on the day of the gather and feast. He, Menolly, and the other visiting harpers must have played the current most popular ballads ten or twenty times a piece, and each of them had spent at least an hour on the platform, entertaining in their turn. Sebell had been here, as well as Talmur, Bruddigan, and Domick, but they'd gone back to the hold only a few minutes ago, promising to visit again as soon as possible, and to retrieve their Master when he was ready to return himself. Only the weyrfolk, were left now, and some of the more friendly Lord Holders, such as Groghe, of Fort, and Azgenar, of Lemos Hold, as well as their women and attendants.

"Masterharper?" A voice at Robinton's elbow caused him to turn and see N'ton, Weyrleader at Fort, grinning broadly at him from beneath his riding helmet. "It's fantastic to see you up and about again. Oldive and Brekke tell me that you've recovered faster than either of them could have hoped. Everyone's so pleased. To think, a few sevendays ago we'd thought that we had thought that a festival like this one would tire you out too much to be plausible.

"Everyone," replied Robinton, raising his eyebrows in mock exasperation, "is always so concerned about tiring me out that I'm not allowed to have any fun at all." He pouted like a punished child, and N'ton chuckled. "You can't imagine how grateful I am that the restrictions on my leisure time have been lifted. Brekke makes an excellent healer, but I fear for her children, should she choose to have them."

N'ton opened his mouth to respond, but just as he did so, music drifted towards them from the hastily-erected gather square. Robinton frowned. "Who could that be?" He asked, peering over the heads of the other merrymakers to get a glimpse of the square. "I thought all of my harpers had taken off for the Hall."

Together, N'ton and Robinton pushed their way through the crowd, until they were standing in front of the platform, on which two young men were playing a pleasantly fast ditty about a barefoot girl and her dragonrider lover. The Masterharper smiled as he recognized harper Elgion, recently of Half Circle seahold, as one of the two youths. The other wasn't known to him, which perversely bothered Robinton. There had been a time that he'd known every single person on Pern who could carry a tune, and yet how could he be expected to keep track of every single holder's son who learned how to play an instrument from his hold harper? Surely, this was one of those.

Elgion and the other finished playing, and, bowing to emphatic applause from their excited audience, the two of them hopped down from the platform. Elgion caught sight of Robinton's face amongst all of the others that swam around him, and, taking the arm of his companion, made his way over to where the Harper and N'ton were standing.

"Master Robinton! You look well," Elgion said, making a courteous bow, first to his master, then to the Weyrleader. "May I introduce you to someone? This is my cousin, Armond, of Crom. We grew up together, and he's the first person who piqued my interest in music."

"It's a pleasure, Armond," Robinton murmured, inclining his head respectfully. Armond grinned from ear to ear.

"I bet they'll never believe that I've been personally introduced to both the famed Masterharper of Pern, and the Fort Weyrleader!" the young man was saying, his eyes flashing with delight. Just as hastily, he bit his lip, and put out his hands in a gesture of apology towards N'ton. "I mean that with the utmost respect, I mean. It's an honor, that's all, a real honor."

"The honor's all mine, I assure you," replied Robinton. Even as he spoke, two other young men steppe dup to the platform, this time, both recognizable to Robinton. They were journeyman that he hadn't expected to see her, both of whom he had posted to Ista Weyr long ago, to help instruct the old-timer riders in the proper courtesy that they should show not only towards other Weyrs, but to the crafts and holds. The two of them started yet another dance, several eager couples joined hands in the square, and begin whirling each other around in time o the music.

The Masterharper noticed Menolly amongst the dancers, her arms liked with those of her long-time friend, Piemur. Piemur, surprisingly enough, seemed to have mastered the steps exceptionally, despite his usual awkwardness when it came to dancing and revels of this sort. Robinton couldn't help but be intrigued by the smiles on their two faces, and he remembered days when Piemur and Menolly had been conspirators together in the Hall, looking after Menolly's firelizards, and helping each other to get around the masters, and to make exceptional gather bargains. He was proud of them, pleased that they'd managed to get so far in such a short time. His apprentices, now his journeymen, were growing up, and were leaving the nest for good, he know. Something about that tainted his happy recollections, and he turned away from the dancers, trying to clear his mind of the sensation of loss that he found himself experiencing.

Vaguely, Robinton was aware that the dance had ended, and that the two Crom harpers had started a second, even livelier ditty. N'ton left his side to join the couples, no doubt to engage a lady of his own for the second whirl. Just as Robinton began to move away from the square, he felt a touch on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"May I?" Menolly was standing behind him, her face flushed from the exertion of the rapid dance movements. There was a glint in her eyes that caught at Robinton's heartstrings, and he shook his head, thinking to reject her offer. Menolly frowned, and Robinton quickly changed his purpose, cursing himself all the while for being such a pushover as to be too alarmed by the girl's frown to pursue his purpose. "That is," continued Menolly, a bit mischievously, "unless you feel like a dance would be too much for you?"

"My dear girl," snorted the Harper, as he took her hand to lead her back to the square, "I have never once in my life been too tired for a gather dance, and I hope that I shall never be unfortunate enough to say that I am unable to participate."

"I'm glad you can," she whispered, and Robinton glanced down at her to see her eyes closed in relief. He cleared his throat, and then turned to take her by the arm as the harpers struck up to play their third dance.

Menolly was lighter, even, than the Harper had expected. As he spun her through the intricate steps, he barely had to put any pressure on her waist in order to t urn her in whatever direction. She wasn't a skillful dancer, but she was a graceful one, so much so as to make her missteps forgivable, almost unnoticeable. Robinton felt more nimble himself with her in his arms, and soon discovered that he was capable of executing maneuvers that he hadn't' previously thought he would manage. He flipped her over his shoulder, her long circle-skirt spinning about her knees as she back-stepped in time to the music. She laughed ass he spun her in two tight circles, and clutched at his shoulder as she almost tripped over the skirt of the girl behind her.

"Sorry," she grinned, shaking her head. "I'm not particularly talented." The mistake gave Robinton an excuse to tighten his fingers on her waist, so as to prevent her from tripping a second time. Menolly didn't seem to object to the increased intensity of his contact.

They continued for two, and then three dances in the same way, barely noticing when the harpers of the song changed. Before Robinton knew it, the sun had gone down entirely in the sky, and evening had stolen upon them. The gather was still in full swing, although dragonriders were collecting to escort some of their charges home from the Cove.

Finally, Menolly stopped moving, and stood still for a moment, her arms still around the Masterharper's neck. She craned her neck over his shoulder, and gave a little wave to Mirrim and green Path, who were just taking to the skies. With a sigh, she turned back to Robinton. "I haven't really seen much of Mirrim, lately," she said, with a fleeting frown. "I really do owe her more than I usually give credit for, and yet there's never time…"

"Because of me," Robinton said, nodding to his journeyman in a silent apology. Menolly looked startled, and shook her head violently.

"It's not your fault," she insisted. "You should know that I've never been upset about…that is, I wanted to be wit h you, through all of this. I wanted to see you through it. I should expect no less from myself, and you shouldn't ever have to apologize for it. Even if you don't," and she stopped his protest with a finger to her lips, "need the help as much as everyone says you do."

"I'm eternally grateful for the attendance." Robinton was, at least, for Menolly's. She was helpful and attentive beyond what gratitude for his years of instruction should require, and she was immensely patient with his idiosyncrasies, and his recent invalid's complaints. She picked some of that up from Silvina, he thought, and the headwoman of the Harper Hall approved as Menolly as much as he did.

Well…perhaps not quite as much as he did. Robinton watched the way Menolly smoothed her skirts down, suddenly self-conscious as she became aware that she and Robinton weren't the only people in the square. The Masterharper reached out and pushed a strand of her brown hair back from her face. It was longer than she usually kept it, since she hadn't had a chance to cut it while she'd been at Cove Hold. He tried to decide whether he liked it shorter or longer, and was forced to conclude that he didn't' have a preference. As long as it didn't' obscure her face, he thought. He became aware that his throat was dry, and he coughed, trying to dispel the feeling.

"You're dry, aren't you?" Menolly shook her head, planting one hand on her hip. "And here I've kept you on your feet for…oh, it must be hours, now…in Faranth's name, I do you more harm than good."

"Never, my good Master dancer," Robinton grinned, "but I could do with just a taste of wine. It would do wonders for my aching throat…"'

"No doubt it would," the girl chuckled as the two of them broke away from the rest of the couples, and started to traverse the booths that had been set up in honor of the Cove Hold gather. "I don't know about Benden wine, master, seeing as they didn't' have a particularly magnificent crop this year, but they just _might_ have saved a bit for you in the hold…

Hearing that they might be running out of wine, Robinton quickened his step. "Well, pick up your feet, will you?" He all but ran for the Cove Hold entrance, as he found a convenient gap in the crowd that led straight towards it. "They wouldn't, they couldn't run out of Benden wine before I've even had so much as a taste…and at my own gather, no less! What is Pern coming to?"

Menolly was laughing and panting at the same time as she and her master rushed into the foyer of their temporary home, only to find that everyone else had vacated the Hold some time ago. Robinton was about to exclaim in dismay, when his blue-tinted wine-glass, filled to brimming with the fine red wine, caught his eye.

"They'd never forget you," Menolly said, gesturing at the glass. There was something in her tone that made Robinton look up, even as he took his first, long, gratifying sip of the stuff Belatedly, he gestured Menolly over to the table, offering her a sip of the wine with a generous wave of his hand towards the glass. Menolly shook her head.

"No thank you," she murmured, folding herself into the chair next to his, and leaning her elbows against the surface of the table. "You'd think I'd be thirsty after all of that, but I'm just fine. Something in the air here really does agree with me."

"It certainly does," agreed Robinton. Menolly stared at him, and the Masterharper realized too late what he'd said. He licked his lip nervously, tasting both the pleasant aftertaste of the wine, and his own nervous confusion. "You look well," he continued, trying to cover for his unfortunate statement. "And to see you dancing like that, with Piemur, you look as if you were born for it. Maybe I should post you to Cove Hold after all, rather than keep you with me at the Harper Hall, when I return.

Menolly shook her head, her eyes wide with alarm. "Never," she replied, too quickly.

Robinton put his glass down, and folded his fingers under his chin. "Menolly," he started, thinking of how to gently remonstrate with her without giving her the impression that he was angered by her affection.

Before he'd had the chance to let any further words slip, Menolly had leaned over the table, and was pressing her lips to his wine-soaked ones.

Too shocked at first to respond, Robinton stared at her, dazed, as she kissed him. Her eyes were closed, and although he failed to respond to the caress of her lips, Menolly did not release him. Despite himself, the Masterharper felt himself returning the kiss, letting out a sigh of the most intense relief, and, at the same time, chagrin as he reached up to cup her face to his with one long-fingered hand. She leaned into him, her brown hair falling against his outstretched hand, the soft, childlike skin of her cheek making the gentlest of impressions against his.

After a few moments, one of them pulled away. Robinton couldn't imagine who it was, for he wasn't in any way eager to break the contact, and he could see in Menolly's eyes that she couldn't have been either. Something inside him reeled, and yet he felt more at peace, infinitely calmer than he'd been only a few days before, when she'd played him her touching and yet alarming new song. She had told him that this was silly, that they were no longer hiding anything from each other. Now, she was right. Now, they really were in each other's confidences, and Robinton knew, even as he relaxed his mind to the idea, that no good could possibly come of it. He felt marvelous, ill at ease, relieved and distracted, all in the same disturbingly complete moment.

"Sebell's asked me to marry him," Menolly said into the silence.

"Oh?" Robinton drummed his fingers against the wood of the table. "And what did you tell him?"

Menolly closed her eyes. "I said yes."


	5. By Rights

**Author's Note: **Don't worry – or rather, worry; the story isn't' over yet, after this chapter.

**Chapter Five: By Rights**

_Harper, your song has a sorrowful sound, though the tune was written as gay._

_Your voice is sad, and your hands are slow, and your eye, meeting mine, turns away._

Menolly wanted a small wedding, and Sebell insisted that, as long as they had plenty of harpers to entertain the guests, he had no preference. It was still difficult for the couple to make up a guest list, or to pick and choose amongst the numerous friends that they had both made over the past several turns, due to their talents and sincerely endearing natures.

Robinton, one morning, found himself seated in the kitchens as Menolly and Sebell scarfed down a hurried breakfast, pouring over a list of names that the three of them were supposed to be narrowing down. The list itself was at least three sheets long, and Menolly, exhausted by the exercise of being forced to choose her friends, wrung her hands in distracted frustration as she gazed at the daunting text.

"Harper Hall," Sebell was insisting, "is beholden to Fort, so we have to have Weyrleader N'ton, and Lord Groghe, and any of their people that they might decide to bring along."

"And F'lar and Lessa," Menolly added hurriedly. "Benden's been kinder to our hall and to our harpers than anyone really should have been, and to exclude them would be disgraceful. And we have to have Lord Jaxom, Sharra, Lytol of Ruatha." She paused. "But there's no good reason for that, other than that we're all friends, and that I'd so like to have them with us." Sighing, she turned the first sheet over, revealing a second list of names on the back. "Oh shells…and we can't forget Brekke, and F'nor…I don't suppose that we have to have D'ram of Ista, but wouldn't it be impolite to leave him out? We did force him out of hiding after all, and we can't just forget about him now that we've insisted on his presence…"

"You sound like a mother wherry," Sebell murmured, leaning over and kissing the top of Menolly's head. "We can have all of those people, and D'ram of High Reaches, as well, and G'narish of Igen, and there's still plenty of room in the Fort square to allow for as many others as you can think off in the next sevenday."

Menolly frowned at him. "But I don't' want as many people as I can think of," she retorted, "I want to just…do it quietly, make it worth something to just the two of us, and then move on from it without making a huge fuss about it like the ladies of the hold do."

Robinton couldn't help but smile. Menolly had always been a rather self-effacing girl, and she'd never particularly liked making a spectacle of herself, or drawing a great deal of attention. Ironic, then, that it was she who had impressed the ten firelizards, sure to catch the eye wherever they went. The girl always insisted that it wasn't her fault that she'd been in the right place to impress them, at the right time. Robinton had believed her, knowing that, if it was up to Menolly, she'd stay as far in the background as possible, blending in with all of the harpers that played gathers and weddings.

"By the way," he murmured, realization dawning, "you are going to allow the Hall to attend, are you not? I can't imagine that anyone here would like being left out of the wedding of the soon-to-be Masterharper' and his bride. By rights, they should all be there."

Menolly's eyes almost popped out of her head. "The entire hall, master?"  
"Hardly a small, quiet occasion," Robinton agreed with a chuckle, "but it is only _courteous…_"

Menolly groaned, and closed her eyes.

Laughing, Sebell gathered up the sheets, and deposited them unceremoniously on the table behind him. He took Menolly by the shoulders and turned her towards him, his eyes dancing as he grabbed her hands, and gripped them in his. "Just think of all the music, Menolly," he insisted, "all of the dancing we would have if an entire hall full of harpers was present at our wedding. There can't have been, and won't be another occasion to rival it on all of Pern.

"I thought you didn't care," queried Robinton, amused.

Sebell attempted to look nonchalant as he shrugged off the jibe. "I don't," he said, releasing the harper girl, "but it seems the most reasonable solution, doesn't it?"

"Infinitely reasonable," agreed Robinton, as Menolly buried her face in her hands.

Ultimately, Sebell had his way, as there was no possible way to appease all of the crafters, the holders, and the Weyrs without opening the wedding to everyone that Menolly and Sebell knew. Those masters who were particularly fond of the pair, Domick in particular, and Robinton himself had all of their apprentices clad in matching blue tunics, with long, flowing sleeves and small, ambiguously metallic-looking firelizards embroidered in one corner of the collar. They were resplendent, if not very clean, as Menolly had insisted that there be an abundance of bubbly pies for all of the young harpers to eat in commemoration of her own first turn at the Harper Hall.

Silvina herself had spent days working with Abuna to create Menolly's traditional-style red marriage gown, and Abuna spent most of the wedding flitting from group of people to group of people, pointing out the dress and exclaiming on it's excellence.

As Menolly and Sebell chatted with Mirrim and her weyrmate T'gellan, Robinton found himself playing a love song on the gitar, ranged in the midst of a group of women who seemed to share Abuna's sentiments on the craftsmanship of the red gown. Among the women were Sharra, Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold's recent bride, and F'nor's weyrmate Brekke. The two women were talking together in low voices at one end of the throng of women, and they didn't seem terribly interested in the conversation about the dress.

After several moments, Sharra broke away, and, with a courteous nod towards Robinton, she left to find her husband. Brekke approached Robinton then, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a thoughtful look that made him cough and look away.

"You're sad, Masterharper," she said, in her low, gentle voice. "A melancholy harper at the wedding of his two most renowned and prosperous pupils? That wont' do."

Robinton shook his head, his fingers not missing a string as he did so. "You misread the signs, Lady Brekke," he replied, meeting her eyes with what he hoped was a pleasant smile. "Although I appreciate your concern. That girl's a tiring one," and he inclined his head in Menolly's direction. "She didn't' finalize any of the plans for this occasion until just this morning. It's been many a sleepless night." Robinton suddenly produced a doleful, minor chord to accompany the look of chagrin on his mobile face, and Brekke shook her head, smiling.

"No doubt," she agreed, with a slight shrug. "I'm sure it's been a difficult time for you." Her voice was so infinitely understanding that Robinton looked up abruptly from his instrument, but Brekke had already begun to weave her way through the crowd to give her congratulations to the happy couple. He followed her with his eyes, until he saw her curtsey to Sebell, who grasped her hands warmly in thanks.

Sebell was wearing the intricately embroidered white formal shirt that Robinton had lent him from his own wardrobe for the occasion. He stood taller than usual, his shoulders pushed back in an excess of pleasure and pride, one arm twined around the waist of his new bride, whose white skin contrasted starkly with the rich red of her dress. Robinton couldn't' help but remember when his own arm had been wrapped around Menolly in just such a way, when that same white skin had brushed his own in the most fleeting and yet lasting of caresses.

Sebell was a marvelous man, Robinton thought, forcing his mind away from Menolly's eyes, lips, and hair. Sebell would take good care of her, would make sure that she was never ashamed of her music, or in fact of anything she did.. The two of them would make the most supportive pair, would benefit each other and would create exactly the sort of Harper Hall that Robinton had always hoped that his successor would help to form.

Reaching with one hand to adjust a string on his gitar, the Masterharper caught sight of his own fingers on the frets. He flexed them experimentally, grimacing as he noticed the protruding bones, the creases in the back of his hand, the way his knuckles wrinkled together even when he stretched them to reach the most difficult chords. He remembered the way his hand had held her face, and imagined the contrast of his softly wilting skin with her youthful vivacity. The image repulsed him, and he strummed faster on the gitar, trying to strum the thoughts out of his head.

The women around him began to laugh and join hands, and they were grinning at him, and clapping their hands. Looking down at the gitar, Robinton was vaguely aware that he'd begun to play a dance, and that the ladies around him had joined up into a tighter circle. They swirled around him, kicking up their heels as the connected circle of women rotated to the steady beat of the Masterharper's agitated hands, hands that played without him, almost as if they had a mind all their own. He tried to smile, but the feeling seemed forced and foreign to him, and he wondered how silly he must look, with his face stretched into the plastered grin that he knew himself to be wearing.

It felt like hours before he put down the instrument, to cheers and cries of "more, more!" from the rest of the women. Bowing respectfully, he excused himself from their midst, and made his way over to the wineman's table, where the man was pouring drinks for the throng of guests.

"Master Robinton!" the wineman grinned from ear to ear as he saw the Harper approaching. "Was surprised that I hadn't seen you all night long! What'll it be?"

"Wine," muttered Robinton. "I need a drink, I'm…parched."

"I imagine you would be," the man chuckled, pouring Robinton a generous glass. Without so much as looking at it, the Harper reached down, lifted it, and drank it in a single gulp, placing it back down on the table in a bizarrely careful way. Raising an eyebrow, the wineman filled it again, before turning to a woman who was standing behind him on the other side of the table.

Robinton drank several glasses, trying to taste what vintage it was. Sooner or later, he knew, someone would challenge him to identify the different wines being offered at the wedding, and, though he was no doubt able to judge each one of them from a single sip, he found himself unable to even taste them as he gulped them down. What was this one, then? Benden, five turns back? Seven? Eight turns, yes, it must be the eight-turn-old wine from Benden.

As Robinton stood, pondering over the wine, Sebell approached the table, and took a glass of his own. "Master!" he all but crowed, smiling broadly as he reached out to clasp the older man's forearm in greeting. "They sure have swamped you with requests, haven't they? I've seen you playing for this group or that group all night long, and yet you haven't said a word to me and my wife. Oh, don't worry," he continued, when Robinton opened his mouth to reply, "We understand. You're the Masterharper of all Pern, and a legend for your miracle recovery, after all! You're a busy man." The warmth in his voice made Robinton both gratified and sick to his stomach, although he couldn't' tell if that feeling actually arose from the disturbing speed at which he was downing the wine. "We're glad to have you here," Sebell continued, in a lower tone. "More than you can know."

Menolly came up beside Sebell then, and, with a little cry of surprise, she whisked away the glass of wine that Robinton had been holding in his hand. He looked up at her, bemused, as she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Master! Aren't you the one that taught me the proper way to appreciate a Benden vintage?" She regarded the glass thoughtfully for a moment, frowning. "Isn't it good enough? Maybe we didn't order the right stuff, but I thought that you'd given us decent enough instruction on that score."

She looked as if she had more to say, but Sebell pulled her to him, and she set the glass down on the table as she kissed her groom, wrapping the arm that had held the glass around Sebell's neck as she arched into his arms.

Robinton retrieved the wine glass.


	6. As the Dragons Do

**Author's Note: **This chapter will conclude **Harper's Folly**. Should you thirst for more, I would HIGHLY and HOPEFULLY recommend the sequel to this story, which I am writing and posting as we speak, called **Harper's Hope,** a much longer, more all-encompassing, and, I should hope, more uplifting work. It is a very slightly post-Skies of Pern story, in which the following things happen:

Jaxom is impulsive, despite the turns he has accumulated.

The dragonrider's attempt to discover exactly how far dragons can stretch time – with a series of disturbing results. Their curiosity may be paid for in both human and dragon life.

Menolly faces a personal crisis as she attempts to manage her and Sebell's family, and her own conflicting loyalties.

F'lar and Lessa are unable to relax peacefully into old age, as the Lord Holders riot and protest against dragonflights and the "wanton, lusty habits" of the Weyrs.

A great many totally unacceptable puns are made around the word "time."

The author attempts valiantly to cut down on the number of "author's notes" she inserts into each chapter, and (so far at least) she succeeds!

If you enjoyed **Harper's Folly**, you may very well find **Harper's Hope** a fun read. I encourage you to take a gander at it, and, if you do, to review!

Thanks for your patience!

Yours,

H. S. Shore

**Chapter Six: As Dragons Do**

"No thank you," Robinton had insisted, when Menolly had asked him if he wanted to go sailing with her on the relatively placid surf. "You go right ahead and amuse yourself. The rocking, no matter how slight, doesn't agree with my more sensitive insides." She'd laughed at him, implored him to join her, but the Masterharper was having none of it. She could make herself sick, if she wanted. He enjoyed spending his time watching her little single-man craft from the beach, safely and contentedly resting on the solid ground.

The harper girl had wheedled the sailboat out of one of Idarolan's journeyman. No doubt, Robinton thought, she'd charmed him into submission and then begged him to complete the project, so that she could take her little seafaring jaunts without drifting too far away from her charge. It wouldn't be long now before she'd take her leave of Cove Hold entirely, and install herself in the Harper Hall. She belonged there, now, he admitted, more than ever before, and he couldn't, and wouldn't keep her with him for that much longer. Sacrifices, he knew, had to be made in the name of the craft, and if she wouldn't' spread her wings on her own, Robinton would force them open in her best interests.

Menolly had tossed her sandals to the beach when she'd boarded her boat, which Robinton had fancifully named "The Flitterby," in honor of the name that one of the Southern Weyr women had given to Menolly's fair of firelizards. The discarded shoes lay beside Robinton's own, as he soaked his toes in the warm cove sand. Zair had settled down between her two sandals, and had curled his tail around one of them in repose, so that Robinton idly wondered how she'd manage to extract the shoe when it came time for her to come back to shore.

Robinton stretched one arm back, letting the sand sift through his spread fingers as he arched his back to let his face taken in the sun. Everything would change soon, he mused, and it would change for good. Funny how everything could be so static here, when no doubt, in only a few days, all of the comfort that he'd come to associate with Cove Hold would be overturned. Was it the girl's going that he was dreading, or something else, some greater premonition? Robinton couldn't tell, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. Better some vague sense of impending change than the knowledge that it was his attachment to Menolly that drove him to those displeasing thoughts.

Menolly had turned her boat around now, and was taking it in towards the shore, speedily approaching the place where Robinton sat. She hit the beach, and, swinging one leg over the side, planted a foot firmly in the soggy tide-soaked ground, anchoring herself and the boat to the shore.

Eventually, Menolly left the boat, and, tying the line to the edge of a nearby rock, took a step towards the Masterharper's beachside post. Even as she did so, the edge of her tunic caught against the boom, and, with a startled half-shriek, half-laugh, Menolly went tumbling forward on to her hands in the surf.

"Menolly? Are you all right?" Robinton started to get to his feet, but she held out a hand, shaking her head with embarrassed mirth, as she righted herself.

"How awkward," She grinned sheepishly, and deftly grabbed the sandal away from Zair, depositing him unceremoniously on the ground with a flick of her wrist. Zair collapsed in a heap, gave Menolly a baleful look, and then just as quickly attached himself to one of his owner's own shoes. Robinton made no move to stop him.

"Pleasant sailing?" Robinton asked, looking down at his journeyman as she squirmed into a more comfortable position on the hot beach. "It certainly was an adventurous trip, all the way from here to a few dragonlengths out." His gentle grin took the sting from his sarcasm, and Menolly shrugged at him, still smiling.

"I'd have gone farther," she remarked, "if you'd been brave enough to come with me. Apparently that "adventurous strip" was a bit too much for your weary nerves to bear."

"Too true," murmured Robinton, inclining his head. "You have the advantage of me, my dear girl. Years of practice, lighter limbs, and the desire to get up and do that comes from youth and pleasant experience."

"We'll go tomorrow," Menolly assured him, crossing her arms behind her head. Robinton shook his, smiling at something in the distance. Glancing over at him, his journeyman frowned. "No? The next day, then. I predict calm seas for at least three days, and we don't' want to wait until it gets choppy for me to teach you how to sail your own boat properly."

"I won't need to learn to sail my own boat properly," Robinton insisted. "Maybe another time, Menolly. But not now."

"Lazy," Menolly whispered, almost inaudibly, but the Harper's ears were trained to pick up just such nuances. He glowered good-naturedly at her, planting one hand on his hip, rolling over on one side to regard her with mock-severity. Waggling one finger the way his father used to do, he retorted "It's not laziness that makes us budget our time for more worthwhile endeavors than jaunting about, Harper Menolly, and you'd do well to have some respect for those more tried and tired than yourself."

"Sorry." There wasn't, Robinton was pleased to note, any real contrition in her voice. So, she had, Robinton was pleased to note, learned to take some teasing well after all. Perhaps she'd learned that from Sebell, never one to pass up the opportunity to make a gentle jibe. Menolly and Sebell had encountered trouble with each other for so long, due to Menolly's original inability to understand when the man was playing with her. She'd stopped thinking about it now, and she wasn't so self-conscious. That was good. A harper needed to be able to adapt to all settings and all forms of human communication. Menolly was a very adaptable girl, and it did her credit. It did Sebell credit, too, for his patience with the girl.

"When are you going back to the Hall?" he asked, the question hardly sounding idle, even as he voiced it. Menolly seemed unperturbed, however, failing apparently to notice the over-anxious tone.

"It's up to you," she shrugged, reaching over to slip her sandals on. "We can go whenever you want to go. Sebell has everything pretty much held down back in the North, and he doesn't feel the need to rush us home again."

"I didn't ask when we were going back," the Masterharper reminded her. "I asked when you were returning. You shouldn't loll around with here much longer, you know. You're still a working harper, and you're still learning the trade, as we all are, as long as we're at the Hall. I don't agree that you're at a point in your career where you're reading to give up on your learning experience."

"I won't go," the girl whispered, a bit too fiercely. "I want to stay here with you, as long as you need me."

"I don't need you anymore." Robinton heard himself speaking the words, but it was a lie, and he knew it despite all of his best efforts to convince himself of the contrary. He didn't need anyone else. He was capable of managing himself, now, of taking care of his own affairs. He was healthy again, vigorous, in command of his own faculties. But he needed her, for all of that, and he couldn't imagine that he'd ever stop needing her, not in this lifetime. He also needed her to leave him, needed her to get away from him and to get out on her own, out where she could develop the great talent that everyone had, justifiably, seen in her.

"You don't mean that," Menolly insisted, meeting his gaze, and Robinton was forced to remain silent, not trusting himself to give the lie to the earnest creature. "Stop trying to protect me," she continued, speaking almost too harshly in her desperate need to change his mind. "I can take care of myself, and I can figure out how to make my own mistakes."

Robinton shook his head. "But you don't need to make mistakes, Menolly. If you can make your own decisions, make the right ones. And you know what the right decisions are, because you're a very smart girl. If you've blinded yourself so much that you can't remember what those good choices are anymore, then I can't help but decide that, as your Master, and as your friend," and he put an emphasis on the last word that made it more tender than the word "friend" should be, "I must make those decisions for you."

Panic arose in Menolly's eyes. With a chirping cry that sounded almost like one of Beauty's noises, she threw her arms around Robinton's neck, and held him there, tightly, as if realizing that when she let him go, he'd insist that she release everything that they'd been storing up for each other. Rather than force her away, the Harper placed one hand against the hollow of her neck, letting the other curve around her back so that he held her in a tender but light half-embrace.

"Why"d you let me do it?" She asked, burying her face in his shoulder. "Why didn't you say something, tell me that you didn't want me to go, tell me that you wouldn't stand for it? You could have stopped me. If you'd told me not to go, I would have…that is, I would have told Sebell…I would have done whatever you asked, I just…"

Robinton kissed the top of her head, speaking into her hair. "I couldn't' do that to you," he told her, firmly. "You love Sebell. You're happy with Sebell, you're happy at the Hall, and you've created so much for yourself, with him, with the others. I would be a cruel man if I tried to take that away from you for…this." He made a derogatory gesture towards himself with his free hand.

"I do love Sebell," she agreed, "I do, but I love-!"

"Shh." Robinton cut her off. "Don't say it. It won't do either of us any good, and I want you to be free, a free woman to forget about all of this."

"But I won't," she insisted, peering up at him from beneath his arm, meeting his eyes with a searching gaze, as if she was looking for something particular out of the warmth of his regard. "I can't. I never will. And…will you?"

Robinton knew that he wouldn't, and he didn't try to hide the thought, which was no doubt so plain on his face that she couldn't help but see it. "But let's not talk about it," he insisted. "Let's never talk about it. Let's just live now, for the moment, as the dragons do."

Later that day, Menolly rode away, on a dragon, to pick up a few things that the Harper had asked for from Fort Hold, and the Weyr. As he watched her go, he wondered if he'd be able to watch her fly back again, only to leave the next day, for good. Still, he felt a bit calmer, knowing that together, without words, the two of them had agreed on what he knew would be the right decision. She'd come around, he hoped, for all of her pleas and promises to the contrary.


End file.
